


Peace and Goodwill

by OlwenDylluan, Quilly



Series: Quodlibets [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Tree, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Gen, Kedreeva's Wiggleverse, Soft Wholesome Snaby Shenanigans, Soft Wholesome Zone, THE KIDS ARE ALL GROWN UP, does it count as kid fic if the kids are snakes but so is one of the parents, seasonal altruism, snabies!omens, snek!babies, snek!babies grown up, wiggleverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28288425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: The holiday season is about family and light; Azirafather taught them that their very first Christmas.Junior has a plan, this first Christmas on his own. He doesn't expect his siblings to shoehorn themselves into it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Quodlibets [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589863
Comments: 13
Kudos: 48
Collections: Wiggleverse





	Peace and Goodwill

**Author's Note:**

> We didn't plan a holiday story this year. We did, however, get to talking last week, and suddenly there was a story unfolding in the chat as we imagined the adult snabies doing things, and we said, well, if it's plotted, we might as well write it...
> 
> This time one of us wrote a scene or two then passed it to the other, and so on. It was good to work together again. It's been a hard year for everyone, and some of our plans were put on hold for a later time when we have the proper energy and focus. But writing 6K of Soft Wholesome Snaby Christmas Shenanigans? That feeds the soul. 
> 
> We wish you a wonderful new year. May 2021 be better than 2020 for us all!

How it happened wasn’t entirely clear. Clem just found himself staying over at Third Eden sometimes. Datura would drop him off on their way to work, and he’d either doze in the greenhouse while Junior worked, or he’d tag along to the market with him, wheelchair tucked in the bed of the truck. And at the end of the day, sometimes Junior was too tired to drive him home again, so Clem would just curl up on the sofa or in Junior’s bed with him, his cool scales against his brother’s warm back.

On those days, he tried to be up before Junior so that he could make a big breakfast for them to share. It didn’t always happen. More often it became a brunch kind of thing. And somehow Datura sensed when brunch would happen, and would arrive with fresh croissants or a fruit tart from the village patisserie, and it would turn into a lazy afternoon thing.

One such lazy Saturday afternoon in mid-December, Angelica walked in without knocking.

“Who is it?” Junior said.

“Shut up,” she said, dropping her bag by the door and kicking off her trainers. She walked up to the table and reached past Datura’s shoulder to twitch a piece of crisp bacon off Junior’s plate. She dipped it into Clem’s soft-boiled egg and began chewing on it.

“Tea’s on the hob,” Clem said. Still chewing, she went to pick up the pot, then brought it to the table to refill everyone’s cup without asking.

“I went to the cottage. Azirafather said you were all here.”

“Here we are,” Clem agreed placidly.

“Were you looking for us?” Datura asked, passing her a basket of danishes. She took one and sat down in the fourth chair.

“Please, join us,” Junior said. She kicked him under the table. He kicked her back.

“Just needed to hang out,” she said. “Think it will snow soon?”

“No idea,” Datura said. 

“Fields are frozen,” Junior said absently, scratching at the short beard he’d grown.

“Haven’t gotten rid of that fur yet?” Angelica said, frowning at a cold piece of toast before shrugging and dropping a spoonful of marmalade on it. “In case you’d forgotten, you have scales, not fluff.”

“So, what’s on the list of things to do today?” Datura said. “More lazing about?”

“Ehn,” Junior said. “I have some stuff to work on. Needs finishing.”

“You? Working voluntarily on a weekend?”

He shrugged.

“It’s a thing I’m doing. Has a deadline.”

“Aren’t you your own boss now?”

“Well, yeah.” He began moving his finger over the weave of his denims, sketching something. It was calmer than bouncing a leg or kicking a foot the way he’d done as a child. Clem noticed, and smiled quietly to himself.

“This is… personal, though. You know?”

“Yes,” Clem said, and he felt Junior's stress level go down a point or two. 

He’d been hanging out with Anthony more, just kind of slowly flowing into his life. Not that he’d ever deliberately move into someone’s… okay, well, there had been that whole Rosa thing. But he hadn’t inserted himself into her life, just her Arrangement, because she had definitely needed someone with a clearer head. She still did.

Clem was beginning to wonder if he had been sleeping through his need to be right there next to his siblings if they seemed to need support. It appeared to be much more marked the older he got... the older they _all_ got. Those in school had finished their second year of uni; Datura had all but taken over the running of the repair shop; Anthony had designed and built Third Eden and started his quiet market business. Clem had begun auditing some psychology courses. It turned out he had a knack for figuring out how people’s minds worked.

It had been a cautious year for everyone. The first anniversary of the disastrous Paris trip had come and gone: Anthony’s hellish period being stalked and tortured by Hastur, the revelation of Rosa’s new Arrangement. Anthony had been irrevocably changed by his trauma. He was quieter, more cautious, downright melancholic at times. Perhaps that was why Clem found himself in company with him so often, drawn to his quiet sadness.

“So what’s this project?” Angelica pushed.

“Trees.”

“Wrong time of year, isn’t it?”

“Not that kind of tree.” Junior closed his eyes for a moment, then seemed to make a decision and pushed back his chair. “In the greenhouse. Want to see?”

As a group, they followed Junior into the greenhouse, Angelica carrying her plate of food, Datura with half a danish still hanging out of their mouth. Clem’s wheelchair glided over the short hard-packed dirt path from the hobbit hole to the greenhouse, smooth as any tile floor, and Clem was content to never know which sibling had imagined him the kindness. Junior paused at the entrance, flashed an embarrassed smile, and opened the door.

“There’s some regulars at the market who could use some extra help and cheer this year,” Junior said quietly as he led his siblings through his workspace, every available inch covered in small evergreen trees and bushes cut into appropriate shapes. They were everywhere, on his worktops, on his benches, on the ground, and in between them all were interspersed spools of ribbon and small bundles of dried flowers. Junior crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged as Clem and the others piled in and looked around, staring. “Not everyone can… y’know. Afford the big trees. Thought it might be nice to give back.”

“This is really sweet, Anthony,” Datura grinned after cramming their danish into their mouth and chewing quickly. “You know what would make it even sweeter? Azirafather’s gingerbread ornaments.”

“I’m rubbish at baking, you know that.” Junior shrugged again, curling in tighter.

“I’m not,” Datura replied. “I can make them.”

“I—that’s not—”

“I can tie the ribbons,” Clem volunteered. “Father taught me how.”

“But—”

“And Rosa’s good at making fiddly pretty things,” Angelica mused. “Bet we can get her to make garland out of the flowers.”

“Hang on,” Junior said weakly.

“Then when we’re done, we can call Father to help make deliveries,” Clem nodded. “Between the Bentley, the Sprite, and the truck, we should be able to knock them out in enough time for cocoa and biscuits at the cottage by tonight. Simple.”

“Don’t suppose you lot thought to ask before inviting yourselves onto my holiday project,” Junior protested. Clem, and judging by the cock of her hip, Angelica, both raised an eyebrow at him.

Junior’s shoulders slumped, but he couldn’t hide the grin on his face, nor the lack of tension in his spine. “Fine. Call Rosa, let’s make it a Thing.”

They looked at one another. Clem took the mobile out of his pocket and thumbed a number, putting it on speaker as his call connected.

“Hullo, Rosa,” he said. “Where are you right now?”

“That’s an odd question,” she said. “But since you ask, I’m in Portsmouth, looking at some books in an antique store to see if they might suit Azirafather as a gift.”

“So, an hour away?”

“Ish. Why?”

“I can be there and back in an hour,” Datura said, lifting a slim wrist to glance at their watch. Their grin would have been classified as wicked were it on anyone else’s face.

“What are we planning?” Rosa said.

“Seasonal cheer,” replied Clem.

“Wrap up your evaluation,” said Datura. “The Crime Bus is on its way.”

  
  


“Where did you even find pipe cleaners?” Clem asked, looking up from his bow-making station at Angelica, sitting across the table from him and weaving together black and red pipe cleaners. Clem’s ribbon had gone a particular shade of tartan several bows in and Clem was in no mind to change it back; it would match the pretty faded flowers that Rosa was currently stringing together on a thin needle in the living room.

“Around,” Angelica gestured vaguely. “There. See?”

Clem grinned as Angelica held up a small snake sculpture. “Very well done.”

“Every tree needs a jingle snake,” Angelica said, and flicked the tiny jingle bell affixed to the pipe cleaner snake’s throat.

“Ornaments are done!” Datura announced, taking the first batch of gingerbread shapes out of the oven. Clem wheeled in as the oven door closed, looking them over. Two dozen tiny angels and snowflakes looked back up at him, steaming. Clem looked at Datura, busy setting up the cooling rack, and scooped up one piping-hot angel, shoving it in his mouth.

“Clematis!” Datura scolded. 

“Halo was crooked,” Clem said around a molten mouthful of gingerbread, blinking innocently. “Had to do it.”

“I’ll crooked your halo if you don’t get out of my kitchen,” Datura threatened, and Clem retreated, beaming.

As the ornaments cooled, Clem busied himself with cutting thin strips of the tartan ribbon to hang them with while Angelica used a chopstick to enlarge the holes Datura had poked in the cookies before putting them in the oven.

“This reminds me of the year we had our first Christmas, when we worked to make a Christmas for Father and Azirafather,” Rosa said from where she sat cross-legged on the floor, dried rosebuds and sprigs of eucalyptus and myrtle scattered in her lacy white lap. “Do you remember?”

“As if we could forget,” Angelica said.

“That was a hard Christmas. Not an easy one to learn with,” Junior said from the greenhouse as he settled another miniature tree in a red tin pot, his voice carrying through the open door along with the steady scent of greens and warm, humid air. 

“We were so worried Father would leave.” Datura put a carafe of steaming spiced cider on the table amid the mess of pipe cleaners and small tartan bows. “He’s gotten so much better at having emotions.”

Angelica snorted, carrying cups to the table and beginning to pour the cider. “No, he hasn’t. He’s just gotten better at giving himself permission to have them.”

“At realizing having feelings doesn’t mean you’re broken,” Clem said softly. Rosa looked up for a moment, meeting his eyes, then nodded and looked back down at her slim fingers deftly pulling the needle through the dried leaves.

“That dinner, though,” Datura said, wincing and laughing. “And they _ate_ it.”

“That’s love,” Clem agreed.

Angelica carried a cup of cider to Junior, who stood counting the small potted trees in the greenhouse. He took it absently.

“This is a really good thing you’re doing,” she said quietly. He shrugged with one shoulder, feeling his cheeks go warm.

“Nyeh. Mh.”

Angelica pulled at an arm he had folded with the other over his chest, and ducked under it so that it rested across her shoulders. “Shut up,” she said.

“You shut up,” he said, but moved his arm slightly so that it rested more comfortably.

“Ready to start assembling these?”

“Mmm.” He didn’t move, though, his fingers gently running along the shoulder seam of her jumper.

“Anthony?” she said after another quiet minute. “You’re really happy here, aren’t you.”

“Yeah.” His nodded, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall of the greenhouse. “Yeah, I am.”

“I’m glad.” She leaned into him, slotting herself into his side. “The moment you’re unhappy, you let me know. Right?”

“Yes, Boudicca, I will unleash you upon my enemies the moment they make themselves known.”

“Don’t snark at me, Anthony.”

“Don’t patronize me, Angelica.”

“Anthony, do you want to bring the trees in here, or do you want us to bring the decorations into the greenhouse?” Clem said from where his wheelchair sat in the doorway. They turned to look at him.

“Bring them in here. I’ll space the trees apart and we can each start with a different one, then move to the next.”

“Righto.” Clem turned the chair and wheeled away. Junior glanced at Angelica’s thoughtful look, her eyes lingering on Clem’s back as he moved deeper into the small house.

“What? What are you concocting in your fix-it brain?”

“Not entirely sure yet,” she said. “Something’s niggling, though. You place the trees; I’ll go get my jingle snakes.”

Hands were, Clem acknowledged, useful sometimes. Like now, when he was hanging Datura’s tiny gingerbread snowflakes and using Angelica’s extra pipe cleaners to fasten his tartan bows among the little branches. The needles were soft under those fingers, and he let them brush the branches gently as he moved his hands through the trees.

Besides, he didn’t think he could make himself small enough to twine through the branches in his preferred snake form.

Further along the potting tables Rosa was fussing with her delicate garlands of dried flowers, adjusting them lightly where she had draped them in gentle swags across the greenery. Across the room, Angelica was hiding a jingle snake in a different place in each tree. Junior was cutting more lengths of tartan ribbon and tying them around the pots.

“Where’s Datura?” Rosa said, lifting her head and looking around. Clem paused and glanced over his shoulder.

“Yeah, how did I get stuck with hanging your ornaments as well as my bows?”

“I’m working on something,” their sibling’s voice said from the kitchen.

“For Gran’s sake, don’t we have enough?” Junior said. Datura came into the greenhouse, hands full of dainty wires, shaking their head.

“It can’t be a seasonal conifer without fairy lights,” they said.

“Where did you get those?” Angelica demanded. Datura waved vaguely.

“Around,” they said, and Angelica snorted. “Help me spread them out.”

With Angelica’s help Datura straightened out the armful of slender wires with tiny white lights, then took one set to twine through the branches of each tree Rosa and Clem hadn’t gotten to yet. Then they went back to the ones that were already decorated, and Datura insisted on taking off all the ornaments to put the lights on properly, which elicited arguing and complaints. Junior came in with a tray of more hot cider in cups, to which he’d clearly added a splash of apple brandy, and everyone took a break to perch on the edges of tables or the floor to enjoy them.

“Well,” Junior said, crooking his mouth in a grin, “this wasn’t a complete disaster.”

“Minor disasters only,” Datura nodded, hands on their hips, looking very pleased with themself at the now softly-glowing miniature trees. “Time to call in the dads?”

“There’s, um. One more thing,” Junior said, and snapped. A dozen wicker baskets appeared, each impossibly crammed with seasonal food necessities. “Some of the worst-off ones… thought maybe I might take them some goodies. Might not accept charity face to face, but I reckon if we leave them on the doorstep with a tree, they might not look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“And maybe we can get Father and Azirafather to add a little extra miracle juice?” Angelica grinned. “Brilliant.”

“I’ll call,” Rosa said, fishing out her mobile. Like Clem, she put it on speaker, so they all heard the uncharacteristic sleepiness in Azirafather’s voice when he answered.

“We are most definitely closed, do try again after the hols—”

“Azirafather,” Rosa interrupted to a background noise of giggles, “it’s us.”

“Oh!” Azirafather perked up, and judging by the immediate swearing, woke up Father along with him. “Oh, hello, darlings, I—Crowley, wake up at once, it’s the children—”

“’lo,” Father’s gravelly voice grated out. “Wot’s the—”

“Come to Fell End and see,” Junior said. “Could use the whole family on a project.”

“Can’t it wait until decent hours?” Father grumbled.

“It’s half six in the evening, Father, it’s decent hours for everyone but you,” Rosa chided. “Azirafather, you’ll come, won’t you?”

“Directly, my dears,” Azirafather confirmed. “I made soup earlier, should I bring—”

“Just bring you and Father, we’ll explain the rest when you get here,” Junior replied. “Um. Thanks.”

“No need,” Father said gruffly, and the phone rang off. Clem amused himself for the next twenty minutes by tying spare tartan ribbon around the handles of the baskets, with Rosa coming in behind him and adjusting his bows to her satisfaction.

“So that’ll be six trees and four baskets per car, divided evenly?” Datura said. “Should we start loading up now?”

“Wait for the Bentley,” Junior grunted, polishing off his cider. “Oh, suppose I should provide the addresses, shouldn’t I?”

“Might be helpful,” Datura grinned. “I’ll take Angelica, Junior can take Clem, Rosa goes with Father and Azirafather, and we meet back…here? Or at the cottage?”

“Either,” Junior shrugged. “Whichever Azirafather wants.”

“Whichever what Azirafather wants?” Father asked, poking his head into the open door of the greenhouse, and Clem grinned as Datura flinched and nearly launched their cider in Father’s face. “What’s got you lot in a—hey, there’s a forest in here, did you know that?”

“A forest? In a greenhouse? Astonishing,” Rosa chirped from the baskets on the floor, and gave a wide, sweet smile when Angelica groaned and kicked her ankle.

“Hello, my loves, what’s—oh.” Azirafather paused in the doorway, a picnic basket tucked under his arm and rapidly blinking tears out of his eyes. “Oh, my, Junior, what on earth—”

“Anthony’s being a saint this year,” Clem announced, wheeling up to relieve Azirafather of the basket. “What’s with this? Thought we just told you to bring yourself and Father.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure what the occasion was, and I had some extra biscuits and tea lying around,” Azirafather said briskly, allowing Clem to take the basket to a work table. “Whatever are we doing with all of these lovely trees?” 

“Giving out a little holiday cheer,” Junior said, and inclined his head at the food baskets. “And some humanitarian aid.”

“Blegh,” Father retched.

“Perfect opportunity to tempt some less-fortunate children to indulge in old-fashioned avarice, Father,” Rosa said idly. “I think the baskets could do with an extra sweet or two for them.”

Father stiffened, but relaxed much more quickly than Clem would have thought, who himself had tensed when Rosa brought up tempting.

“Yes, well,” Azirafather said, clearing his throat, “some additional goodwill couldn’t hurt.”

Clem felt the miracles from Azirafather and Father settle over the baskets like a combination of warm, cozy blanket on cold skin and rich mulled wine in the belly. Whatever vestige of tension remained before the miracles evaporated, from both Clem’s shoulders and Azirafather’s.

“Right,” Junior nodded. “Need some help making deliveries, if the Bentley is up for it, Father.”

“Old girl’s always up for anything,” Father grunted. “Where to, spawn?”

“Wrote the addresses down,” Junior said, passing out slips of paper. He then snapped again. “And the trees and baskets are all labeled so they shouldn’t get mixed up. Figure when we get done we can meet back at the cottage?”

“An excellent plan,” Azirafather nodded. “Shall we get loaded up?”

Between the seven of them, loading up the vehicles took no time at all, and they would have peeled out nearly at the same time, all three cars sandwiched in side-by-side on the driveway where they ought not to have fit at all, had Azirafather not bustled back into Junior’s greenhouse for a moment, the lock giving Azirafather no more trouble than it did any other family member.

“What’s he doing?” Junior frowned, and Clem shrugged his still-human shoulders. Azirafather emerged with his basket, and began flitting between the cars.

“There’s enough tins and thermoses to share, it’s cold out,” Azirafather said when Junior rolled down his window, and passed two thermoses and a tin of biscuits into the truck’s chilled interior. Shortbread, Clem saw with satisfaction, and with even more satisfaction saw a stack of gingerbread in the corner of the tin among the fanciful shortbread shapes.

“Thanks,” Junior nodded, and Clem pretended not to notice when Azirafather reached in and touched Junior’s cheek, his eyes shining rather more brightly than usual.

“You make me very proud of you, my boy,” Azirafather said quietly, and Clem could feel it when Azirafather’s attention shifted to encompass them both. “Both of you do.”

Clem looked up and flashed a smile. Azirafather harrumphed, then adjusted his scarf and got back into the waiting passenger door of the Bentley. With no more ado, three slightly more intelligent than average vehicles roared off into the night, laden with precious gifts.

It had not escaped Crowley’s notice that Datura had assigned Rosa to the Bentley.

“Too clever for their own good,” he muttered under his breath, sauntering toward the car with his fingers hooked in his pockets.

“Sorry, Father?” Rosa said, coming out of the house with a leather messenger bag over her shoulder, tying her scarf.

“Nothing,” he said.

Aziraphale settled down in the passenger seat of the Bentley post-passing of treats while Rosa arranged herself in the back seat between two of the trees. The rest were lying down in the boot with the baskets, firmly miracled in order that the decorations would stay in place.

“A cup for you, Rosa, my love,” Aziraphale said cheerfully, passing her a serving of tea while Crowley pulled out of the drive. Used to the madcap motion, not a drop spilled as the cup passed hands.

“Thank you,” she said, settling back. He passed the tartan tin of shortbread next, pouring a cup of tea for Crowley as she selected a piece.

“Only you could turn a delivery drive into a tea party,” the demon scoffed, accepting the steaming cup from his husband.

“Well, really, there’s no point in being hungry or thirsty while we do it,” Aziraphale said pleasantly, accepting the tin back from Rosa. “Shortbread or gingerbread?”

“Ginger. Shortbread’s an angel thing.”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale said, passing him a gingerbread star.

“B’sides, you put a proper amount of spice in ‘em,” Crowley said, then stuffed the biscuit in his mouth before he could somehow compliment the angel again.

“Closest delivery first, or furthest and work our way back?” Rosa said.

“Furthest,” Crowley said, pressing harder on the gas. “Old girl wants a run.” 

There were a few minutes of silence.

“The bookshop’s going well,” Rosa said brightly from the back seat. A decent opening salvo, Crowley thought.

“Is it?” Aziraphale said, sounding pleased.

“Rather!” their daughter chirped. “I began soliciting for used textbooks. They’re shockingly expensive, you know, and it’s dreadful for students. I put up notices on the buy and sell pages of the unis and colleges, and offer very good prices for them. I have the front part of the shop dedicated to it. I developed a rental policy for those who are really down on their luck, too.”

“That’s… quite entrepreneurial,” Crowley said.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, twisting his fingers together. “Oh, but if you’ve solicited so much business, isn’t there the danger of--”

“Azirafather,” Rosa said reassuringly, “I buy secondhand paperback copies of _Bleak House_ and _The Canterbury Tales_ , and the latest edition of _Lippincott's Illustrated Review of Biochemistry_. No one needs to go past the front part of the shop to rifle through your shelves. Students come in with a list; they don’t usually browse. Well, a few do, but if they’re determined enough to make their way through the front part, then they’re usually content to just wander your stacks and dreamily breathe in the aroma of toluene, benzaldehyde, and vanillin.”

“Oh, well,” said Aziraphale, partially mollified. “That’s lovely. Still…”

“You left her in charge,” Crowley reminded him.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

“I did,” he said. “And I can think of no one else I would entrust it to.”

“If you’ve got such a booming business happening,” Crowley said curiously, looking at her in the rear view mirror, “how do you have time for your own studies?”

“Oh,” she said, “I only open sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” he echoed.

“Every second Monday from two to three; Saturday mornings from eight to half-eight; Thursday evenings from a quarter of nine to nine,” Rosa said promptly. “If it’s a full moon, I’ll open from six to eight in the evening. And by appointment, of course,” she added. “That’s always best.”

Crowley began to laugh.

“I’m glad the shop is doing well in your hands, my dear,” Aziraphale sighed, and a comfortable silence descended, more comfortable than Crowley had expected. Nevertheless, he felt a question bubbling up in his throat, and clamped down on it as hard as he could.

The first house drew near, a wretched little apartment in a set of wretched little apartments.

“I’ll handle this,” Aziraphale said. “Pop the boot, Crowley. Be back in a tick!”

In the quiet that followed Aziraphale’s exit of the car, the question swelled to the filling of Crowley’s mouth, stretching and ballooning, until—

“And… how’s the side gig?”

The air was perfectly still and quiet. Even the Bentley seemed to be holding its breath.

“It’s fine,” Rosa replied. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mm-hmm. I would say if it was.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Crowley said flatly. “So I’m asking. ‘M a demon, I can smell deceit a mile away. Are you sure you can handle it?”

In the silence, Crowley wasn’t expecting the warm hand on his shoulder, nor the warm press of a kiss to his cheek.

“I promise,” Rosa murmured. “I can and am handling it. Thank you.”

There was a lot more on That Particular Subject that Crowley wanted to say. A lot he wanted to know. But the angel was coming back, so Crowley squeezed the hand on his shoulder and let his throat get all clogged with unsaid emotional things. He cleared his throat back out again when Aziraphale came back in the car, and Rosa retreated back into her own seat.

“Done!” Aziraphale said brightly. “On to the next one!”

“Angel,” Crowley frowned, just now noticing the suspiciously more festive look to the apartment building in front of him, “what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale sniffed. “I just…freshened it up a bit!”

“This is not a bit, this is a lot,” Crowley argued, and from the corner of his eye noticed Rosa relax back into the back seat as comfortable marital bickering filled the interior of the Bentley. She looked a good deal more relaxed than Crowley had seen her in quite some time. Perhaps Datura had known what they were doing, after all.

  
  


“I’m not lost,” Datura announced. 

“Never said you were,” Angelica replied, who had been thinking it very loudly.

Their first deliveries had gone alright, but now they were trying to find the recipient of the first basket, and either the map app was glitching out, or the address Junior had given them didn’t exist.

“I’m not, though,” Datura said. “I know there’s a house or a cottage or something back in here, I just don’t know… where.”

“Call Anthony and ask,” Angelica rolled her eyes.

“No,” Datura said, flexing their fingers on the Sprite’s wheel. “I can do this. I am a snake on a mission.”

Angelica let them be, setting aside their phone and tapping at hers instead. For all their love of tech, Datura’s phone was old and prone to strange ideas; something about integrated smart appliances just didn’t sit well with them. Angelica supposed she could see the mistrust, given her penthouse had once had the gall to have crashed internet and it had shut off all of her utilities at once in a panic, but really, once she had a very stern talking-to with the router, nothing of the kind had ever happened again, and she could order a mojito from her automatic drink mixer while in the shower and have it ready by the time she was done. Brilliant stuff, in her opinion, even if she didn’t know how it worked.

All this to say, Angelica tapped the mystery address into her sleek, shiny phone, newest model, and frowned when it threw up the same error as Datura’s ancient brick.

“He must’ve written it down wrong,” Angelica said, and showed Datura her phone screen. “See?”

“I don’t think so,” Datura said, and pointed out the window. Angelica looked, and the Sprite, slowing down, passed a road signpost that was leaning perilously but still upright. Listed on it was the street name that both Datura and Angelica’s phones insisted didn’t exist.

“Huh,” Angelica said, and stowed her phone in her pocket as Datura turned down the tiny dirt road.

The looming trees above more and more made the place seem like a prime location to be murdered and dumped without a trace. Not that Angelica was much the type to be afraid of such things, given what she was and all, but it was the principle of the thing. Datura seemed increasingly jumpy, their fingers white-knuckled on the wheel and jaw tense.

Finally, when it seemed they were about to run out of road, the dirt path made a hard left, and revealed a tiny run-down shack in the middle of nowhere, with a busted-up old pickup in the yard.

“Are we… is this it?” Angelica whispered, and Datura pointed, this time to the front porch post, where the correct house numbers were displayed. “Oh. Um. Guess I’ll just, um… keep the car running, I’ll just be a second.”

“Hurry,” Datura shivered, and Angelica armed herself with a basket and a tree and left the safety of the Sprite.

She tiptoed through the overgrown grass and gulped at the forbidding exterior of the house, small as it was. Angelica took a deep breath, then put her foot on the bottom stair of the porch. It creaked like it was dying when she slowly put her weight on it, and she flinched, taking her weight back off. 

“Put it on the porch and let’s go!” Datura whisper-shouted from the Sprite, sticking their head out of their window, and Angelica forewent the stairs and just slid her goods up onto the porch directly. She scooped up a rock from the path, aimed, and threw it at the front door. Immediately a light came on inside, and Angelica ran as fast as she could back to the car.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Angelica hissed, and Datura began to back the Sprite out when the front door opened.

Angelica didn’t think of herself as one who scared easily or was prone to fanciful ideas. She just… wasn’t expecting it to be a very small child swinging open the front door of a house that looked like this. She put her hand on Datura’s arm. “Wait. Look.”

The very small child was joined by a second child, even smaller, and then both disappeared into the house and returned with a doddering older woman. She looked at the tiny tree and the basket, then out at the Sprite, still sitting very obviously in the street. Awkwardly, the old woman waved, and awkwardly, Angelica waved back.

“Happy holidays!” Datura bellowed from the driver’s seat, then began driving backwards like mad away from the house, Angelica’s bitten-off shriek echoing in the woods.

Once they were back out on the main road and headed towards the second basket’s recipient, Angelica happened to catch Datura’s eye, and the two of them burst out laughing.

“We’re ridiculous,” Datura hiccupped. 

“Irrevocably,” Angelica nodded. She settled into her seat and sipped the tea that Azirafather had brought them. “Trust Anthony to pick a family to help that lives on the set of a horror film waiting to happen.”

“Suppose if they didn’t live there, they wouldn’t need the help,” Datura said, and opened their mouth for Angelica to slot a biscuit into it. “Feels nice, doing this. Know what I mean?”

“Sure,” Angelica shrugged. “But if the next house looks like that, you’re getting out of the car this time.”

  
  


After a handful of biscuits, Clem stretched and shifted back into his comfortable, large serpent form. He rearranged his thick coils in the passenger seat of Junior’s vintage truck.

 _That's so much better_ , he sighed. Junior darted a glance at him out of the corner of his eye. _Well, it’s not like I can carry a tree to a porch, is it?_

Junior made a nondescript sound of agreement, eyes on the road ahead. Clem settled his head on one of his coils so that he was looking directly at his brother. Junior sighed.

“What is it?”

_Just that you’re a good person._

“Shut up,” Junior said automatically.

_Shan’t._

“I’m just… it’s nothing big, okay?”

_It is to the families you’re helping._

“None of you would even have known if Angelica and Datura hadn’t shown up today.”

_Why does it make you uncomfortable that we know?_

Junior pressed his lips together, his arms thrust straight against the steering wheel.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Azirafather always taught us that we take care of others at any time of year. But this season is really hard, especially for kids. And we have a little community--you know, the people at the market, the people who come to the market… you get to know who’s who. When we were small, it was just great fun to be someone’s Christmas angels, secret Father Christmas, that sort of thing, doing good without telling anyone. This year… maybe it’s because I’m on my own now.”

_Would you have preferred if we hadn’t helped? Honest question. I’m not being snarky. Just asking for next time._

“I really enjoyed today,” Junior admitted. “We haven’t had a family afternoon like that in I don’t know how long. When we’re all working on different parts of the same thing, but still teasing one another.”

_I don’t think being alone is good for any of us._

“We learned that pretty hard last year,” Junior said dryly.

_We’re all changing. Growing up. That’s not a bad thing._

“No, of course not.” Junior fell silent as he navigated along a twisty bit of the dark road.

_Things were easier when we were small._

“Wee snabies,” Junior said, and laughed.

_When Father and Azirafather taught us that the December celebrations were about light and family._

Junior pulled over to the side of the road. Clem lifted his head and peered out the window.

_Here?_

“Here. Tree and a basket. It's tricky in the dark. I’ll make two trips.”

Junior got out of the truck. When he got to the tailgate, he was met by Clem, who lifted his head and upper body up, reaching in and taking the handle of a blessed basket in his mouth.

 _Lead on,_ he said. _We can do it together in one._

  
  


Later, much later, back at the cottage where they had all made a family together, relaxing on cushions and snuggled into sofas beneath the glow of the holiday decorations, Clem felt Junior sigh beneath where part of his coils were looped across Junior’s shoulders.

“Thanks,” Junior said, drumming his thumbs against the edge of his mug of punchy hot cocoa.

“Think nothing of it, dearest boy,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed and reclined against Father’s chest, petting Angelica’s curly head in his lap.

“S’what the season’s for,” Father grunted, the firelight from the log in the fireplace playing in his hair and eyes.

“Think we’re going to start a new Father Christmas tradition in the nearest twenty-kilometer radius, between the jingle snakes and the gift-giving serpent here,” Junior chuckled. “Going to get calls from neighbors asking if anyone else saw Santa’s Dragon or some such thing.”

 _Santa’s Dragon,_ Clem said thoughtfully. _There’s a thought._

“Don’t, you’ll go and give Clem a big head,” Angelica sighed.

 _I already have a big head,_ Clem hissed, raising his head from Father’s shoulder to slither down to Azirafather’s lap and flicking Angelica on the nose with his tongue.

“Children, behave,” Azirafather admonished.

 _When have we ever not?_ Rosa asked from her position coiled in Datura’s hair and on their head as they lounged in front of the fire.

“Don’t answer that,” Datura giggled.

Peaceful late-night holiday quiet settled again as Azirafather’s phonograph played one of Father’s quieter seasonally appropriate instrumental records. Look at them, Clem thought as the primal urge to nap in a place where he was warm and safe began to creep up on him. No matter what happened, they would still always have this, wouldn’t they?

 _What’s the saying? God bless us, every one?_ Clem mumbled, sleepy and full and content and just a little bit tired from slithering across half a dozen lawns to deliver Junior’s gifts. It was hard work, making history with your family. Clem wouldn’t change it for the world.

  
  



End file.
